No Dominion Greater
by DarkRiverTempest
Summary: Something is wrong with Hermione. Very wrong. Will Harry be able to convince Severus that she is worth saving, despite their rocky past? If he doesn't it may mean the end of them all.
1. Chapter 1

Written for Surreal_Angela for the 2012 SS/HG exchange! Her prompts will be listed at the end of the story.

**Warning:** Dark!Hermione: this includes violence, explicit language, murder most foul - you know, the usual from me. If that's not your cuppa, move along. Portions of _The Prince's Tale_ chapter from Deathly Hallows are recreated in chapter 5.

So much love goes to my supercalifragilisticexpiover beta, Delphipsmith. You challenged me from the beginning and I can't thank you enough for that. Unending love and gratitude goes toToblass for pushing me when I didn't want to budge, and for the countless brainstorming session – you are a gem, dear!

**Disclaimer:** _All Harry Potter characters and canon Potter Verse belong to JK Rowling and associates. I am in no way affiliated with Warner Brothers, JK Rowling, or Scholastic. I do not make any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

* * *

_You can have no dominion greater or less than that over yourself. ~ Leonardo da Vinci_

The first time Harry realised something was not quite right with Hermione was during the reprieve in the Great Hall, just after Voldemort's final defeat.

He was sitting on the dais where the professors ate their meals, watching the general state of confusion, lacking the energy to do anything more to help, completely drained and mind numb with shock. Suffering had been monumental on both sides; lives and loved ones lost, the darkness conquering even the brightest light. A brief vision of what had happened in the Shrieking Shack flashed before his eyes and he was left with an empty grief he could not explain.

To distract himself from the painful thoughts, he focused on the Weasleys: Ron standing with his family in mournful grief over Fred's body. They were clustered together against all outsiders, even Harry. He wondered if they blamed him for their loss, knowing that if the situation were reversed nothing would hold him back from destroying the one ultimately responsible. Earlier, Harry had tried to console them, but no amount of sorrow on his part would gain him entrance into the tight-knit group.

Feeling unbearably useless, Harry moved away to where several bodies lay on trestle tables, covered with white sheets. He knew Lupin and Tonks lay together beneath the fabric of a single large sheet, but as his eyes skimmed over the others he spied one that was particularly bloody. Morbidly curious, he lifted it and to his shock saw Severus Snape. The man was gasping in shallow breaths, blood slowly oozing from his wounds. Stunned, he did the first thing that came to mind and summoned Madam Pomfrey as tears obscured his vision. He didn't know why he cried. All he knew was that Snape needed care and that he had to have it immediately.

With the hospital ward filled to capacity with wounded from the two-day battle, Pomfrey triaged Snape right there on the trestle table. _Vieo Viscus_ closed the largest wounds and a Blood Replenishing potion would, she said, keep him amongst the living for at least a while longer. When Harry questioned whether that was all she could do for Snape, she gave him a curious look and rattled off several adverse interactions with various potions which she suspected Snape had already ingested.

Three hours later, bloody, bruised and aching, Snape was able to sit up and survey the chaos that reigned. Harry stood up from where he'd been sitting beside the table and followed Snape's gaze as it moved around the room. Neville sat with Luna, holding her as if he'd never let her go. McGonagall and Flitwick scurried to and fro amongst the ruins, tending to those with minor injuries. He noticed that McGonagall studiously avoided looking at Snape. Harry couldn't really blame her; based on their history, he wasn't sure why he wasn't doing the same. What he _did_ feel wasn't something he could explain. It went beyond mere obligation, bordering on fixation. The anger he felt towards this horrible yet honourable man was not something that would disappear in the blink of an eye. Too much had happened between them, too much to just sweep under the rug. Harry had a gut feeling—the kind he knew he should listen to but often didn't—that when things were settled, he would still have an unhealthy preoccupation with Snape. It wouldn't sit well with others, this fascination with the unmitigated bastard.

He dared a glance at Ginny. She was covered in muck and dust, pacing slowly in circles around her family. No one approached the Weasleys except… Harry groaned and watched as a battered-looking Lavender Brown made her hesitant way over to Ron and stood behind him. Ron didn't acknowledge her presence, yet she stayed there, unusually silent. Ginny stopped her pacing. Her expression as she eyed the outsider, clearly suspecting Lavender was about to touch Ron, was downright frightening, and Harry shifted a little closer to Snape. Together they watched as Ginny stormed over to Lavender, who shrank from the onslaught of possible violence, and something inside Harry cringed at what he imagined Ginny might be saying to Lavender: Stay away.

To avoid dwelling on his visceral reaction to Ginny's behaviour, Harry scanned the area for Hermione, knowing she would be alone in all of this. He was abruptly brought back by a harsh voice at his side.

"I don't need a nursemaid, Potter," Snape rasped, shoving away Harry's hand, which had been holding the thick bandage against the wound in his throat. "See to your friends."

Harry's first inclination was to snap at him, but the sharp words died on his tongue. "You're still bleeding."

Snape's eyes searched the room, then he nodded in the direction of the double doors opening on the main entrance to Hogwarts. "Granger needs your help more than I, and the Weasley boy isn't likely to notice her at the moment."

Following Snape's gaze he saw Hermione, sitting on the cold stone floor and staring emptily out into the crowd. The dark circles under her eyes—a result of her near constant state of terror in the past weeks leading up to Voldemort's ultimate demise—made her look much older than she was. She rocked slowly back and forth, her arms wrapped around legs pulled tight to her chest, her lips moving in what looked like a silent chant. Even from this distance, Harry could see that no distraction intruded on her senses; every word spoken to her went unanswered. Harry could understand her pain. He had probably looked like that a few hours ago himself. But she had been so strong all these weeks; what could have sent her into near catatonia?

He was about to make his way over to her when she stood, as if in a trance. She approached, heedless of the dead and wounded, and Harry thought she might speak to him, but her attention was focused on the table next to Snape. She lifted the white sheet and stared down at the body of Narcissa Malfoy. Unprepared for the sightless blue-grey eyes, it shook Harry to his core. This witch had saved his life just hours ago. Granted, her goal was to save her son, but he hadn't thought about what it might mean for her when Voldemort found that she had lied to him. Now, looking at the evidence of that twisted evil, Harry knew what a blow had been dealt to the Malfoy family.

A strangled noise shifted Harry's attention to Snape, whose forlorn look was disconcerting on such a lined and weathered face. Apparently he hadn't known that Narcissa was dead, either. Snape's lips were tightly closed, however, so Harry looked around for the source of the sound.

Standing beside the table, clutching his bedraggled son, was Lucius Malfoy. The man was obviously broken, his bleary eyes filling with unshed tears as Draco held him close, clearly frantic at the turn of events. When Lucius slowly raised his head and registered the fact that Hermione was looking at his dead wife, Harry expected an outburst of monumental proportions—how dare a Mudblood defile a pure-blood with her filthy sympathy?—but what occurred was far more peculiar.

Lucius dropped his gaze, but his question was clearly directed at Hermione. "W-what do you see?" he stuttered softly.

Hermione let the sheet fall, covering Narcissa's face, and turned to stare at Lucius. "Look for yourself."

Lucius bowed his head, whether in shame at his weakness or grief at his loss, Harry couldn't tell. "I can't."

Hermione made her way around the tables and stood before the Malfoy patriarch. "You did this to her because you are pathetic," she intoned in a flat voice.

"Hermione!" Harry gasped. Despite his long and bitter history with father and son, neither of whose feelings he particularly cared about sparing, her words seemed unusually cruel.

There was no reaction on her part, only the cold, dead weight of her stare on Lucius.

Lucius' eyes were squeezed shut in agony, the tears he had held at bay sliding down his cheeks as he inhaled shakily. "Yes... I-I did this to her."

"And what did you do?"

"Everything," Malfoy choked out. "This life, her choices, that... madman."

"You dare speak of him that way?" Hermione screeched.

Her piercing tone startled everyone around them and cut through Lucius' anguish. He and Draco gaped at her, even as she swayed as if she might fall.

Someone clutched Harry's arm. "Potter, grab her!" Snape growled.

It was a good thing Snape had been paying attention; Harry been so shocked by Hermione's words that he hadn't realised she was barely hanging on. He sprang forward and caught her just as she gave an inarticulate cry and slumped in his arms. She weighed almost nothing, and the guilt he'd felt earlier at having dragged her halfway around England for the past year redoubled.

Snape rose haltingly and beckoned Harry to follow him. "Come. It's less crowded in the dungeons. We can have a proper look at her injuries."

Harry lifted her in his arms and followed his former Potions Master. Hermione was limp as a rag, making it hard to carry her, but he didn't think it would be a good idea to cast any spells on her until they knew what they were dealing with. They made it to the top of the circular stone stairwell that led to the Slytherin common room before Snape had to stop and lean against a wall, breathing heavily.

"What about your injuries, sir?" Harry asked, shifting Hermione in his arms. "Shouldn't Madam Pomfrey be looking after—"

"Madam Pomfrey has enough patients as it is, Potter. I refuse to burden her further. Now, if you are done offering your _expert_ medical opinion, we can proceed to my chambers."

Ungrateful arse! Serves him right if he were to tumble down the steps and crack that skull of his. Oddly, the thought of Severus Snape lying broken and bloodied at the bottom of a stone staircase wasn't as satisfying as it should have been; in fact, it did horrible things to Harry's stomach, forcing him to cast a non-verbal charm that would allow Snape to traverse the stairs without falling.

Slowly they descended into darkness, making their way past the Potions classroom towards Snape's quarters. When they reached the doorway, Snape disabled the wards and motioned them into the room. "On the sofa, Potter," he wheezed, his skin grey even in the low light.

Carefully, Harry laid Hermione on the soft black leather and propped her head on a cushion while Snape covered her with a blanket. Harry noticed that his hands were shaking. "Sir? I think you should sit down as well."

Snape shot him a glare as venomous as any he'd sent in Potions class. "Mind your own business."

Years of bitterness and anger surged up and took control of Harry's tongue. "Pardon me for saying this, _sir_, but you and Hermione _are_ my business. So why don't you quit acting like a bastard and let me help you?"

It was a testament to how poorly Snape was feeling that he couldn't muster a scathing retort and instead dropped into the wingback chair next to the sofa. "Black satchel, underneath my bed. Get it," he grunted.

Opening the door to Snape's inner sanctum, Harry expected to see some sort of Gothic horror chamber. Instead he was pleasantly surprised. The room was decorated in dark woods, perhaps mahogany and cherry, and emanated warmth uncharacteristic of what he knew of the Potions master. Dark blue curtains hung from a large four-poster bed and a few plush rugs scattered on the grey slate floor dispelled the chill. Knowing he'd catch hell from Snape if he didn't hurry, Harry scrambled under the bed and grabbed the satchel wedged just under the headboard, receiving a mild shock for his trouble. Of course it had a defensive spell protecting it; he was surprised at how little the spell affected him.

He carried it into the other room and held it out to Snape.

"Open it," the man huffed, one hand on his chest and the other clutching the arm of the chair.

Harry unlatched the buckle and held it out to him. He watched as Snape withdrew a medium-sized bottle, opened it and downed the rust-coloured contents—a Blood Replenishing potion, no doubt. Several moments passed before Snape's breathing eased and his skin turned pale instead of grey, a marked improvement from its normally sallow tone.

"Here. See if you can get her to swallow this." Snape reached into the satchel and handed him a small blue phial.

"What is it?"

"A Calming Draught, nothing more." His eyes glinted with a touch of their old viciousness. "Never fear, I'm not going to poison her."

Harry sent a glare Snape's way, then propped Hermione up against the corner of the sofa and pried her mouth open. With the edge of the bottle poised on her lower lip, he paused. "Why are you giving her a Calming Draught when she's already out cold?"

Snape arched a black brow. "Because, idiot boy, I'm about to wake her up and I don't wish for another episode like the one we just witnessed."

Harry gritted his teeth to keep from lashing out—the man was, after all, clearly ill—and did as he was ordered. Although unconscious, Hermione was able to swallow the thick liquid. When the phial was empty, he handed it back to Snape. "I think it might be best if I were to wake her."

"Fine," Snape said with a wave of his hand.

It was almost a shame to do so; she seemed so peaceful at the moment. Harry cupped her cheek, wincing at the purple smudges beneath her eyes. "Hermione? You need to wake up."

Nothing.

He tapped her cheek in a light slap. "Come on, Hermione. Ron has lost the plot and I'm afraid he'll do something to himself."

Snape snorted. "Move aside, Potter." He stood up with some effort and came to loom over Hermione. "Miss Granger. Gryffindor will lose five hundred points if you do not awaken this instant!"

Harry had to give Snape credit; the tactic worked. Hermione opened her eyes slowly, as if the lids were sticky, and turned her head to face them. "Where am I?" she said thickly.

"In my chambers, Miss Granger," Snape replied. "Where you are less likely to cause a scene."

She sat up a little. "What do you mean 'a scene'? I-I don't remember how I got here."

"What's the last thing you i_do_/i remember?" Harry asked.

Hermione frowned, starring off into the distance. "I felt like I was suffocating, like my body was shattering. I wanted to scream, but I had no voice. Then everything turned cold and black. I felt as if I were back at Malfoy Manor again." She shuddered, and her gaze darted between Snape and Harry. "I thought Professor Snape was... you were... dead?"

"A lot has happened since then," Harry said. "I'll need to speak to you about everything. Quite a few things have changed."

She gave Snape a nervous look. "Like what?"

"Trust me, it'll take a long time to slog through it all, but just know that Snape is on our side."

"I'm on no one's side, Potter," Snape said bluntly, sitting back down, clearly exhausted.

Harry pointed his finger at the older wizard. "You're not helping here." He let his hand drop into a fist. "I swear, if one of you had just told me the truth from the beginning, I would've—"

"Tell an eleven year-old child that he had to die in order to bring about the demise of a Dark wizard he had no prior knowledge of?" Snape snorted. "Oh yes, that would have worked brilliantly. Even I was not privy to Dumbledore's entire plan, boy. Have some sense for once in your pathetic life."

"Harry is i_not_/i pathetic!" Hermione snapped, rallying. "He just saved the wizarding world, you ungrateful murderer!"

"Hermione, don't—"

Snape waved off Harry's plea. "No, Potter, let her have her say. I'm curious as to what Miss Granger thinks she knows."

Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands. He knew what was coming, and it wouldn't be pretty.

"You planned it all along," Hermione said, her voice cold and accusatory. "Bide your time teaching, knowing that Harry would eventually come to Hogwarts, and then treat him horribly so that he would fail time and again. You outted Professor Lupin in third year so that he couldn't protect us. You probably charmed the Tri-Wizard trophy to Portkey Harry to where Voldemort could be resurrected and then stood there gloating while they were duelling, waiting for him to die. And let's not forget fifth year, where you did i_nothing_/i but goad Sirius Black into stupidly going to the Ministry, getting the one person Harry counted as family killed. The last two years must have been a sweet dream for you: killing Dumbledore, at the right hand of Voldemort again, running the school as if it were a recruiting stage, initiating gullible teenagers into the Death Eaters."

Snape arched his brow, his voice low and even. "You think so?"

"I know it! Ginny and Neville told us everything!"

"Hermione, you don't—"

"Silence," Snape hissed, his gaze never leaving Hermione. "Let Miss Granger retain her delusions, Potter."

She crossed her arms. "They're not delusions; they're facts. Everyone knows you killed Dumbledore. Harry saw you—"

"Yes, I killed Dumbledore!" Snape shouted, startling Harry and making Hermione recoil. He rose from his chair. "I relished sending that old fool to his grave," he snarled.

"Stop," Harry murmured. "Please. She doesn't know."

She turned to stare at him. "Know what, Harry? Don't tell me you can somehow explain all of that!"

Snape snorted and moved towards the fireplace, bracing a hand on the mantle to keep himself upright.

Harry sighed heavily. "Now is not a good time to go into it, Hermione. Let's just say you don't know even half of the truth."

Hermione notched up her chin in defiance. "Why are you defending Snape? You used to feel the same way," she retorted, pulling the blanket higher.

Harry grimaced and glanced at Snape. The Potions master's expression was unreadable, but the miniscule tic in his jaw gave away his emotions. "That was before..."

"Before the Pensieve," Snape finished. "Yes, Potter, I am not a complete dunderhead. But, as you say, that is a tale for another time." He turned and studied Hermione. "Do you recall speaking with the Malfoys a few moments ago?"

She studied him intently. "I'm not telling you anything."

"Hermione!" Harry objected. "He's trying to help!"

"Help what?" she snapped. "Does he have you under an Imperius?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "You know I'm not susceptible to the Imperius Curse, Hermione, you've seen me shake it off."

"Then why are you acting as if you can trust him? He just admitted to killing Dumbledore!"

"Thank you, Miss Granger, for that stunning revelation," Snape said dryly. "However, the truth is rarely pure and never simple."

She looked pained. "Harry, what is he talking about?"

Harry could see from the strain on her face that she wasn't up for the long, drawn-out story that needed to be told, and which had been decades in the making. "I'll explain it later, I promise. Now, will you please let Professor Snape check you for injuries?"

Her eyes widened, then dropped. "I'm fine," she muttered.

"No, you're not. You're exhausted and we haven't eaten anything decent in weeks. Let him—"

"_No_!" she ground out.

"Fine." Harry hated to do this, but she left him no choice. He withdrew the Elder Wand and pointed it at her, mumbling a diagnostic spell that Hermione herself had taught them while they were on the run; it would reveal any breaks, internal bleeding or abnormalities. To his relief, other than a mild fever, a fair few cuts and a swollen lip, she seemed to be generally healthy.

"Are you quite done?" she groused. "That was low, Harry. I don't go around pointing wands at you."

"Erm, yeah, you did. Or don't you remember the wicked Stinging Hex you hit me with when the Snatchers caught us?"

"That was different."

"No, it wasn't. You were trying to save my life." He grinned. "Thought I'd return the favour."

"I told you I was fine!"

"Do _not_ raise your voice, Miss Granger," Snape said harshly. "There are those of us with greater maladies than a split lip."

"Go to hell, Snape!" Hermione spat. She threw off the blanket and tried to stand, but immediately fell back onto the sofa. "What did you do to me?"

"He didn't do anything to you, Hermione," Harry reassured her. "Just calm down."

"I am calm!" she shouted.

Both Snape and Harry winced at her shrill voice. Snape raised a hand to massage his forehead. "Miss Granger, if you don't cease that caterwauling of yours…"

"What will you do?" Hermione taunted. "Toss me off the Astronomy Tower?"

"Enough!" Harry yelled, startling everyone, including himself. "You need to rest," he said, pointing at Snape, who merely sneered and turned away. Harry looked at Hermione. "And so do you." She gave him a mutinous look, and he had the odd feeling of being in a parental role. "We're all tired and strung out. I, for one, could use a good kip."

"You are more than welcome to leave. And take that harridan with you," Snape barked.

Hermione rose on unsteady feet. "Gladly!" She took several deep breaths. "Where's Ron?"

"With his family," Harry said. "They're probably back at the Burrow by now."

She nodded and stumbled to the door, but turned back at the threshold. "If you ever point your wand at me again, Harry Potter, you'll regret it." She left, slamming the door in her wake.

Snape sighed and returned to his seat, fatigue clearly apparent. "I would advise you to take that threat to heart, Potter."

"I always take Hermione seriously." He tugged on his hair, his mind turning over possible reasons for Hermione's erratic behaviour. Normally, she'd have wanted a full explanation of everything, with footnotes. "Something is really wrong with her."

"As much as I am thrilled with your acumen, I do not particularly care at this moment. Kindly leave, or I will follow through on Miss Granger's threat."

Harry glanced at him, gauging his condition. "Kindly? That must've nearly done you in, for you to be so polite to me."

Snape half-rose from his chair, his face darkening. "Get out, you miserable brat!"

His fury both hurt and comforted Harry. If he could rant and rave, he was further away from death's door, which relieved Harry no end. Still, after everything he'd seen in Dumbledore's Pensieve, everything they had both gone through, Harry felt responsible for the git, and his vitriol was like salt in the wound.

Harry stood up and went to the door. There he paused, knowing Snape's patience was wearing thin but determined to say what needed to be said. "I'll see you around, Snape. And for what it's worth… thank you. For everything."

He went out and closed the door behind him before he could see the sneer taking up its customary residence on Snape's face.

* * *

The second time Harry noticed Hermione's odd behaviour came a week later, at the Burrow.

Fred's funeral had been earlier that day and everyone was dealing with the grief in their own way. George was firmly entrenched in denial, refusing to eat. Molly was caught between pain and anger. The rest of the family tip-toed around the two of them, aching with their own pain and not knowing how to help. Harry and Hermione had been invited to stay for dinner after the service; he'd felt a welcome sense of family at the invitation, but now he was uncomfortable. No one really acknowledged their presence, not even Ron or Ginny.

Night was edging into the sky when Harry found Hermione sitting in the orchard, back against a tree, staring at nothing. It was chilly for a spring evening and she was dressed in a black halter-top dress, gooseflesh evident on her bare shoulders. He draped his robes around her thin frame and sat down next to her.

"Where are you staying?"

She slowly blinked a couple of times. "I found a one-bedroom flat on Chancery Lane in London, near the tube station. It's busy during the day, since it's in the business district, but it's very quiet at night."

"Sounds brilliant. I'm in London as well, at Grimmauld Place. There really wasn't anywhere else for me to go." He hesitated for a moment, knowing his next question was a bit touchy. "What happened to your parents' home?"

"Destroyed," she whispered. She plucked a purple tulip from a cluster of them and twisted it slowly in her fingers. "I'm pretty sure Yaxley tore it apart. I need to find them, you know that, right?"

Harry nodded. It had always been a foregone conclusion that when everything was settled, Hermione would go and find her parents.

"I asked Ron to come with me," she went on quietly.

"What did he say?"

She shrugged and stripped off one of the green leaves of the flower. "He said he couldn't leave his family at a time like this."

Harry didn't know how he felt about this. Hermione had always been there for him and Ron, and it seemed like they should be there for her now. At the same time, it was hard to imagine the Weasley clan not being together at a time like this. "You're not thinking of going alone, are you?"

The tulip, now denuded of all its leaves, fell to the ground. "I can take care of myself, Harry. We're not on the run anymore."

He took her hand and threaded his fingers with hers. "I know we're not, Hermione. But, you see… there's this lovely witch, who stood by me through everything—good and too terrible to mention—and she's daft if she thinks I won't stand by her as well."

She gave him a wan smile. "Ah, well, Ginny's a lucky witch." Her eyes dropped to study the grass.

There was something heart-breaking in her voice, and before he knew what he was doing, he cupped her face, tilting her chin until she was looking at him. "I wasn't talking about Ginny," he said fervently. His thumb strayed across Hermione's lower lip, soothing its trembling.

Her eyes were wide and dark in the moonlight. "I thought…" She frowned. "I wanted—"

"There you are!"

Ginny's voice should have made Harry's insides sing, but instead a lead weight settled in his stomach. He dropped his hand and waited for her to cross the length of the orchard to where they sat. He couldn't tell if she'd seen Hermione or not, but she came to a sudden halt once she rounded the copse of trees a few feet away from them.

"Oh!" An awkward silence fell. "Erm, Ron was looking for you, Hermione." Ginny's tone was clearly one of irritation.

"And?" Hermione said, not looking up.

Harry glanced at Hermione; the tulip she had picked earlier hung in shreds from her fingers.

Ginny crossed her arms and shifted from foot to foot. "I think he wants to talk to you."

Hermione lifted her head and glared at Ginny. "Well, I don't want to talk to the moronic twat, so go away."

Harry covered his mouth to keep from objecting… or laughing, he couldn't decide which, torn between surprise at Hermione's words and amusement at Ginny's facial contortions.

"That 'moronic twat' is all you have left, Hermione Granger," Ginny bit out. "Merlin knows how many times you probably shagged both of them while you three were on the run. Couldn't just stick with Ron, could you?" Harry opened his mouth but the words somehow wouldn't come. "Well, it's done. It's over. Voldemort is dead. Harry's _mine_ now. If you're as smart as everyone says you are, you'll find Ron and apologise to him."

Oh, this was not good. "Ginny," Harry admonished, finally finding his tongue. Even as he spoke, he found himself looking around for something to hide behind. Or under.

Hermione rose and stepped around him to stand very close to Ginny. "You're wrong, little girl." She raised a hand and caressed Ginny's cheek. "I would never let that blood-traitor near me, let alone fuck him. You, on the other hand?" Hermione trailed her fingers down Ginny's neck, across her shoulder and then fisted her hand in the red hair at the back of the other girl's neck, yanking her head back. "I bet every one of your brothers has had a go at your pretty, ginger cunt."

Harry's jaw dropped in shock as he heard Ginny draw a gasping breath. He'd seen Hermione angry before, but nothing like this. This sort of vicious obscenity was nothing like the girl he knew. He scrambled to his feet. "Hermione, let her go." He placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder and squeezed hard.

Ginny was shaking, looking to Harry for help, but Hermione didn't even acknowledge his words or notice his grip on her. She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips and leaned close to Ginny's face. "I can smell his seed on you." Hermione's free hand drifted down Ginny's dress, skimming her breasts to cup her privately. "You rutted with him before you came looking for Harry."

Ginny jerked away as Harry released Hermione and stared at her. His mind couldn't make sense of what he'd just seen and heard from either of them. "What the hell is she talking about, Gin?"

"I don't know!" she ground out, but her averted gaze told him something different.

"Oi! What's going on here?"

Harry swore silently. Worse and worse. Of all the times for Ron to show up...

"Tell your mad girlfriend to get off me!" Ginny shouted as her brother rounded the shrubbery and stepped into view.

"I'm _not_ his girlfriend!" Hermione released Ginny and shoved her towards Ron.

Ron caught his sister as she fell into him, nearly toppling them both. "What're you talking about?" he said. "`Course you are, Hermione."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You really are thick, you gormless prat!"

Ron looked at Harry, confused. "Is she sick?"

Hermione lunged at Ron with an incoherent cry, her fingers curved into claws, but before she could wrap her fingers around his throat, Harry caught her by the waist and held her tightly. "Calm down, Hermione, come on now," he said soothingly.

"I'll kill you! I'll kill you all!" she screamed, and then went completely limp in his arms.

Ginny and Ron stared at the two of them in absolute horror. He couldn't blame them, after what she'd said; best that they just got out of there until tempers cooled and he could sort out what was going on. "Sorry," he muttered. "Tell your mum it was a lovely service and dinner."

He didn't wait to hear their response. He Apparated both of them to Grimmauld Place, hoping against hope that Hermione was just suffering from stress, or some sort of breakdown.


	2. Chapter 2

They say it's the little things that betray you—the actions observed or the words said here and there over time that add up to something more. In Hermione's case, her words and actions were adding up to concrete evidence that something was terribly wrong with Harry's best friend.

After the fiasco at the Burrow, he didn't dare leave her alone. She didn't protest; she seemed as frightened as he was. He asked her to stay with him at Grimmauld Place because he didn't trust her on her own; Merlin knew what might happen if she had one of her fits in public. She agreed and, after a quick trip to retrieve some of her essentials from her sparsely furnished flat in London, they settled in and tried to sort out their lives.

Harry stayed in Sirius' old bedroom while Hermione moved into Regulus'. Two nights later he opened his eyes in the middle of the night to see her standing over his bed, staring at him. He tried to speak to her, but she only whined, like an injured animal. It sent the hairs on the back of his neck straight up. Eventually she went back to her room, but the sight of her empty eyes kept Harry awake the rest of the night.

The next morning, Harry eased the Elder wand out from under his pillow. He knew he couldn't keep it; hadn't the tale proven that it was too powerful a lure for envious and ambitious wizards to resist? Besides not wanting to succumb to its powerful influence, he didn't want to be constantly looking over his shoulder for the next would-be Dark Lord who wouldn't hesitate to kill him in his sleep for one of the Deathly Hallows. The remnants of his old holly wand were wrapped in the invisibility cloak, which Harry had tucked in the steamer trunk at the end of the bed. Once he repaired it with the Elder Wand—at a time when he could focus his attention completely—he would place the Hallow with its rightful owner and hopefully its power would fade with its memory: into legend. Until then, he carried it with him at all times.

It occurred to him that Hermione had lost her wand as well, and he wondered how she was getting along without one. Hers hadn't been broken, like Harry's, but lost, taken by the Snatchers who delivered them to Malfoy Manor, so she'd had to make do with what was at hand. Maybe that was what was making her so odd lately, the lack of a wand. With her parents gone she had some money, but no source of income. Feeling they could both use a day out and fresh air, he decided to take her to Ollivander's and purchase one for her the next day.

The next morning, they set out for Diagon Alley. Harry wanted to go in the early hours before the crowds became unmanageable, and they made it to the shop with only a few hearty handshakes, a couple of slaps on the back, and one woman asking if he would kiss her baby so that it would be blessed the rest of its days. He hated this sort of attention, had always hated the notoriety attached to his name. It had bothered him more and more over the years, and he could foresee it becoming completely out of hand in the near future. The last few days, the papers had been abuzz with Voldemort's death and, along with it, Harry's fame, the names of the fallen heroes and the prisoners awaiting trial. Harry's feelings when he read the list of those being charged with war crimes were complicated. Relief, maybe. Curiosity, certainly. He was surprised that Snape's name had not appeared on the list as of yet, at least according to yesterday's edition of the _Daily Prophet_, but whenever Kingsley questioned Harry about the Death Eater-cum-spy, Harry was always quick to defend him. It occurred to him that he should owl Professor McGonagall and find out what he could about Snape, since there was little chance the man himself would tell him.

They reached Ollivander's, and Harry immediately disliked the oily wizard that appeared at the jingle of the shop door's bell.

"Oh, Mr. Potter. What a privilege!" The man bowed low enough that Harry could see the grimy stains at the back of his collar. "James Kiddell, at your service."

During their weeks at Shell Cottage, Ollivander had never seemed truly himself after his ordeal at Malfoy Manor, so it was no surprise that he was not working now. The man before them, however, was fawning so disgustingly that Harry was reminded of Peter Pettigrew. Well, the sooner they completed their business, the sooner they could be out of there.

"My friend needs a new wand." Harry nodded towards Hermione.

"Ah yes, Miss Granger. Brightest witch of her age!" She curled her lip as Kiddell grabbed her hand and pressed a sloppy kiss on the back. "Please, this way."

She gave Harry a dubious look before following the thin wizard past the teetering stacks of boxed wands. Harry assumed it would take quite a bit of time for Kiddell to match Hermione with a wand, so he glanced around the shop for something to do, his eyes finally falling on that day's edition of the _Prophet_.

_Rogue Factions Still At Large!_ read the headline. Great. He shifted the paper around to see the article. There was no by-line but the tone positively screamed Rita Skeeter:

_Now that He-Who-Will-Continue-To-Not-Be-Named has finally been dispatched—in what we are told was a most spectacular battle—by the moody but brilliant Harry Potter, one would think the Ministry would be quick to apprehend all known Death Eaters for prosecution. Alas, dear readers, it seems the governmental policies put in place by former Minister Fudge and (may Merlin grant him safe passage) Minister Scrimgeour remain all too firmly present, and have delayed what should have been a swift execution of justice. Take, for instance, the convoluted case of Severus Snape. How is it that this dark, malicious, horrible wizard, who terrorised the beloved Chosen One and served for so many years at the right hand of the now-defunct Dark Lord, still walks free? Does he hide behind Hogwart's walls? No trial, not even an informal inquiry! Well, someone must still hold a grudge, for only last evening the allegedly former Death Eater's summer home in Cokeworth was reduced to ashes. It is rumoured that meetings of a most nefarious nature often occurred at the grimy residence in Spinner's End, including one starring the infamous Black sisters, Bellatrix and Narcissa, now deceased. Perhaps the house held proof that pointed to Snape's culpability in more than just the scandalous murder of his predecessor as Headmaster, the sagacious and well-beloved Albus Dumbledore. Did devious malcontent Snape set the blaze himself to destroy such evidence? Inquiring readers need to know!_

Harry's lips thinned. "Rita Skeeter can go to hell any day now," he muttered, dropping the paper in disgust.

"Perhaps I can help with that?"

He turned at Hermione's voice and felt a sudden chill at the sight of her. There was something... he couldn't quite put his finger on it, but she was different—she moved with greater confidence, had a harsher edge to her features. It was all of those things and more. Had she cast some sort of glamour? If so, why?

She gave him a knowing smile and waved her wand gracefully. "Alder, twelve and a half inches, centaur hair core."

He raised his eyebrows at the unusual choice of material.

"Flexible," Mr. Kiddell whispered as he emerged from the stacks, his eyes glazed over. "Excellent for defence and curse work."

Hermione gave him a negligent glance, then continued to swish and flick her new wand.

"How much?" Harry asked Kiddell.

The wizard started, as if awakening from a deep sleep. "Free. Yes, free of charge for the illustrious Mr. Potter."

"Free? No, I really need to pay for—"

"Harry. I've already paid him," Hermione said, absentmindedly. "We can go now."

When had she paid him? They hadn't been gone that long, and she didn't have any money. He was about to question Kiddell, but somehow Hermione had led him out of the shop and when he looked up, they were standing in front of Scrivenshaft's.

"I need some quills," she said, tucking her wand into her sleeve. "I won't be a moment."

An unsettled feeling inched its way up his spine. Hermione usually asked him to come into shops with her—mostly, he always thought, because she wanted someone whom she could ask advice, which she could then ignore—but now she clearly wanted him to wait outside. He nodded and watched her disappear through the doorway.

Harry didn't know how long he waited; it could've been a few minutes or an hour, or even two. At one point he noticed Ron, Ginny and George amongst the crowd. It wasn't clear if they saw him—he had backed into an alcove to avoid more strangers wanting their babies kissed—but spied them easily enough. Hard to miss all that red hair. None of the Weasleys had contacted them since Fred's funeral, and to be honest he had no inclination to speak to them.

It wasn't just Hermione's actions at the Burrow that caused him to stop communications, though. Something about Ginny's behaviour in the orchard that night had raised his suspicions, and when Hermione had called her on it, he thought he could see guilt in her eyes. Maybe he didn't _want_ to know what had happened. Combine that with the new animosity between Hermione and Ron, the overwhelming grief that seemed to permeate the very air at the Burrow and the way the family had shunned him after the battle—no doubt blaming him at some level for Fred's death—and it was enough to thoroughly drain Harry of any desire to make overtures.

He was tired. He'd done what the wizarding world had wanted. Why wouldn't they just let him rest?

* * *

Late the next evening, Harry found Hermione sitting in the library, poring over a stack of thick and mouldy books. He thought nothing of it at first—she _always_ had her nose in a book—so he left a tray of tea and sandwiches on one of the tables and silently closed the door. When the next morning came, however he found her still in the library, asleep on an opened book with ink-stained fingers spread across a closely-written parchment. He peered over her shoulder, wondering what sort of notes she was taking. The words he saw meant little to him: Catoptromancy, rune magic, binding diagrams, reflections…

Abruptly a book slammed down on the notes, blocking them from Harry's view.

"What do you want, Harry?" Hermione asked, her voice raspy.

She looked terrible, her face pinched and exhausted. "You've been at this all night. It's time to take a break, don't you think?"

She blinked and rubbed her red-rimmed eyes. "Oh, right. I'm sorry. I am rather tired."

"I'll make us some tea and toast."

She nodded and closed the books stacked around her, but didn't get up to shelve them.

Harry went into the kitchen, his stomach growling. The morning _Prophet_ arrived just as he was spreading marmalade on the toast and he froze, knife suspended in mid-air, at the sight of the headline:

_Ollivander's Cursed! Apprentice Kiddell Dies Mysteriously!_

Harry swallowed down the lump in his throat as he remembered Hermione's words from yesterday: _I've already paid him._ He shook his head. No, that was ridiculous. What could Hermione possibly have to do with this? As he read further, the article said there were no markings on the body to indicate a struggle, and no residual magic which indicated the use of a hex or curse. Kiddell hadn't looked very healthy, and even wizards were subject to heart attacks. The case was currently under investigation, so he'd just have to wait on their findings.

When Harry returned to the library Hermione was sitting on the leather sofa, staring at the empty fireplace, her legs pulled up and her chin resting atop her knees.

He set the pot of tea on the table next to her, but she didn't move. In fact, she didn't move all that day and his unease grew with every passing hour. Her tea went cold, untouched. Around noon Harry tried to get her to eat, but the soup he had warmed dribbled from her lips onto her pyjama top when he tried to spoon a little into her mouth. He talked to her, then begged and pleaded with her, all to no avail. Finally, around ten in the evening, she rose on shaky legs and made her way to the loo. Harry intended to give her some much-needed privacy, but when he heard her retching into the toilet and came in to see tears streaming down her face, he'd reached his limit. This couldn't go on.

The next day, Harry Apparated to the gates of Hogwarts and trudged his way up the hill, noticing along the way that much of the debris had been removed. He could see Hagrid and Firenze pulling in tandem, shifting an enormous boulder over to a pile where Grawp was bashing the stones into smaller fragments. He thought about saying hello, but knowing Hagrid's penchant for nattering on for hours, he said nothing and continued on his path.

Much of the castle lay in ruins. The areas that remained intact included the dungeons, the Headmaster's chambers, most of the second and third floors, the library and the Slytherin dormitories, but everything else was destroyed or in a shambles. It would take extensive work to make them habitable again, and Harry wondered if the Sorting Hat would be sorting any students at all in September.

When he found himself in front of the familiar gargoyle, he realized he was at a loss. The last password he'd known was 'sherbet lemon', and that was when Dumbledore had been Headmaster. He had no idea what Snape, and McGonagall after him, had changed it to.

"Beetle to button," said a stern voice from behind him.

Harry turned and smiled at Professor McGonagall. "One of our first Transfiguration lessons, right?"

She nodded, an indulgent look on her face, and motioned him to precede her up the spiral staircase. "As I recall, Mr. Weasley's attempts resulted in a plethora of buttons that scurried about. They were quite difficult to recapture."

"Sounds like Ron," he laughed as he sat down in the chair in front of her massive desk.

She sat down in the Headmaster's—Headmistress', now—chair, folded her hands and gave him a piercing look. "What can I do for you, Mr. Potter?"

She had never one to beat about the bush, so he came straight to the point. "Professor, I think there's something wrong with Hermione."

Her brows furrowed. "Wrong? In what way? I'm afraid you'll need to be a bit more specific."

He frowned. "That's just it, I can't. Not really. It's a lot of little things that just... aren't like her. I think she might have been hit with a stray curse. She's not friendly with the Weasleys anymore, she's saying things that Hermione would _never_ say, even when she was furious. She's hiding things from me. And..." he hesitated, then plunged on, "she's reading texts and books that I think deal with Dark Magic."

"I see." McGonagall pressed the tips of her fingers to her lips, which had always been a sign of deep thought. "You realize, Mr. Potter, these could all be symptoms of stress. Have you spoken to her about your concern? I've never known Miss Granger to be unreasonable, especially if you present your argument in a logical way."

"I would if she'd speak to me at all. She hasn't said much since it was all over. A few words here and there, but nothing you could call a sustained conversation."

McGonagall nodded. "That is one of the more common signs of post-traumatic stress—a disinclination for, or avoidance of, conversation. I recall that when my husband passed, I hardly spoke a word for three months. You, Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley have all been through such terrible experiences over the past year that, quite frankly, I'm surprised none of you have ended up in St. Mungo's." She gave him a tight smile, but he could see that she was not entirely joking.

Harry shook his head. "I know the symptoms of shock and stress, Professor, and what Hermione's doing isn't that. It's something so foreign, I don't know how to deal with it. I mean, would stress cause Hermione to call Ron a blood-traitor? Or make..." He could feel that he was blushing, "... well, sexual advances towards Ginny?"

McGonagall paled. "My word. I see your point. Well, what can we do to assist you?"

Harry had the distinct feeling that he was speaking to the wrong person when it came to Dark Magic. "What I really came to ask, Headmistress, is... where's Professor Snape?"

She shifted the stacks of parchments on her desk, avoiding Harry's gaze. "He is not here at the present moment."

"Then where is he?" He tried to quell the alarm in his voice.

"He's been dismissed," McGonagall said with a sniff.

"What? Why?"

She sent him a glare that made his stomach churn. "You know why, Mr. Potter."

"You fired him for nothing but rumours? _Rita Skeeter's_ rumours?" Harry stood and moved to the door before anger could make him toss a hex her way. "You should be grateful, Professor McGonagall. If it weren't for Severus Snape, I wouldn't have survived my first year at Hogwarts, let alone lived to fulfil that bloody prophecy."

Her stricken look did nothing to ease Harry's disgust. Could the man never catch a break in his miserable life? And McGonagall, of all people, who knew what Snape had done for Dumbledore, and for the Order! He made his way down the staircase and by the time he landed at the bottom, he had a purpose in mind. Outside Hogwart's iron gates, he Apparated, not to Grimmauld Place, but to what was left of Spinner's End. For Hermione's sake, he hoped he'd find the snarky git.

He just hoped Snape wouldn't curse him when he did.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry stood in front of the charred remains of the dilapidated row house, taking in the utter destruction.

Though the fire had started two days ago, the ruins still contained smouldering embers, as evidenced by the hisses and snaps he could hear as the light rain fell upon them. The outline of the brick foundation was the only hint that this had once been a home. Whoever had set the blaze had even scorched the back garden. Harry had never seen the inside of Snape's house in any detail in any of the memories he had been given, but he wondered if his former professor had lost everything of personal value; clearly he was homeless.

Gingerly, Harry stepped over the threshold and toed at the smoking debris, searching for he knew not what. One such prod brought forth the damaged remains of a book; according to the title, a text on blood magic. He bent and retrieved the book, which had apparently been hacked in two before it became kindling. He flipped through the torn pages, then let it drop on a pile of blackened wood.

"There's nothing left."

Harry spun round to see Draco Malfoy standing on the pavement under a black umbrella with a miserable-looking house-elf holding the blond's hand. "Think I figured that one out for myself, Malfoy."

Instead of a nasty retort, Draco just arched a finely shaped brow.

"Why are you carrying an umbrella? Why not cast a Water Repelling Charm?"

Draco's lips thinned. "You don't keep up on current events, do you? Father and I have been stripped of our wands and placed on probation for two years. If we want to travel, we have to make use of these wretched things." He shoved the house-elf away as if it were diseased.

Lately, Harry had taken to skipping over any news pertaining to the Malfoys; there must have been an impromptu trial. Now he wished he hadn't been so dismissive of the pure-bloods. "What do you want?" he asked as he continued picking his way through the mess.

"Severus felt the wards alarm, so I came to see who was disturbing his property."

"Fat lot of good the alarms did him a couple of days ago."

Draco shrugged. "It wasn't my business then. It is now."

"Why? Where is he?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Somewhere safe. At least for the moment."

Harry snorted. "I doubt that." He came to a halt in front of Draco. "Tell me where he is."

It was Draco's turn to scoff. "Hand him over to the people who put him in this position? I don't think so, Potter. "

Before Draco could turn to leave, Harry had the Elder Wand pressed against the blond's throat. "You've changed your tune, Malfoy. Just last year, you hated his very existence. Convince me you have his best interests at heart."

Draco sneered. "Bit hypocritical, aren't we? What's made you so bloody concerned all of a sudden?"

Harry wanted to shout, to scream that he wasn't a Malfoy, that his intentions were purer than Draco's could ever be. But Draco was right. Telling other people about Snape's memories was not an option, so he would have to find some other way to prove to his most bitter rival that he truly wanted nothing more than Snape's welfare.

Stepping back, Harry held up the wand. "You recognize this."

Draco's eyes widened and he nodded.

Taking a deep breath and hoping he wasn't making a colossal mistake, Harry handed Draco the Elder Wand. "Take me to him. Please."

Draco weighed the wand in his free hand, his expression confused; this comforted Harry, as he was in the same boat. He expected Draco to point the wand at him, but instead the blond pocketed it in his robes.

"Severus was right; you're so overly dramatic," Draco said with a roll of his eyes.

"You would know," Harry retorted, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Draco tsk'd in disgust and turned on his heel. "Follow me if you want to see him."

* * *

Malfoy Manor had not changed since Harry's first visit. The crunch of gravel underneath his feet, the shrill call of the albino peacocks looking down upon him from their perches on the high hedges, the unnerving feeling he was approaching his doom the closer they came to the main entrance. Even though he knew Voldemort was dead, Harry had to rigidly control his emotions when the double doors opened and Draco ushered him inside.

As they made their way down the long corridor, Harry observed that the Aurors had done a thorough job of raiding the manor at some point. Rectangular smudges showed on the walls where portraits had been removed. As they passed what Harry guessed was the library, he noticed several shelves emptied of large sections of books.

"Most of the heirlooms were hidden before the Ministry louts could flag them for retrieval," Draco offered in passing. He looked over his shoulder at Harry. "And before you run and tell your precious Shacklebolt, they'll never be found. The only people who know where they are kept are either dead or will never tell you."

"Paranoid git. I wasn't going to tell anyone." Well, he might at some point… a long time from now. With Malfoys, it wasn't wise to rule anything out.

Draco came to a halt in front of an oak door. "Of course I'm paranoid. Wouldn't you be?" He knocked.

It swung open, revealing a rumpled Snape. "Well? What did you…" The words died on his lips the moment he spied Harry. "What is _he _doing here?"

Harry could see the dark circles under Snape's eyes, and guessed the wizard was under a tremendous amount of strain—physically and mentally. "I need to talk to you," he said quietly but firmly.

Snape attempted to shut the door, but Draco's hand stopped it swinging closed. He glared at the blond. "I have nothing more to say to him."

Draco rifled through his robe pockets and withdrew the wand, handing it to Snape. "He gave me this."

Snape had been a spy for almost the whole of his adult life, an expert at hiding his feelings, and during the time that Harry had known him, he had never exhibited one ounce of trepidation or a ruffle of metaphorical feathers. Now, the only way to describe the look on his face was anguish and fear.

Snape took the Elder Wand and held it tightly. "Leave us, Draco."

Draco gave Harry an assessing look before nodding and walking away down the hall. Snape remained in the doorway, unmoving, and it wasn't lost on Harry that he hadn't been invited inside Snape's rooms.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked quietly, hoping to defuse the tension.

Snape snorted and moved aside to allow him entrance. "Like I had a snake rip out my throat two weeks ago. Next asinine question."

Harry sat down at a small table on which several parchments were piled one atop the other. Most of them looked like legal papers. "Are you living here now?"

Snape sneered. "The statement was rhetorical, Potter." He quickly gathered the documents and placed them in a wooden box, slamming the lid shut. "Obviously, such subtlety is lost on you."

"Obviously," Harry muttered. Now that he was here, talking to Snape, he had no idea what to say. If he came right out and asked for the man's help, he was sure he'd be turned down flat. Beating about the bush with inane conversation would earn him the same result. Navigating a conversation with Snape was like walking in a Muggle minefield. "I saw your house," he offered finally.

"What's left of it." Snape sat down across from Harry, crossed his arms and glared. "Are you here merely to look decorative, or do you actually have a purpose, Potter?"

Bastard didn't waste any time, did he? Fine, then. "I need your help."

"When _haven't_ you needed my help?" Snape taunted.

"Don't," Harry gritted out. "Just… don't. I get it, okay? I owe you more than my bloody life is worth. But this isn't about me."

That stopped the contempt inching its way across Snape's face. "Go on…"

Harry was sure that if anyone but himself was having an issue, Snape would hear him out. That shouldn't hurt, but it did. "Something is wrong with Hermione."

Snape's face showed no sympathy. "And this is news? Potter, you informed me of Miss Granger's malaise weeks ago. Have you found no explanation as of yet?"

Harry shook his head. "She refuses to see a Healer. She's up all hours of the night. In fact, she scared the shite out of me when I woke up and found her looming over my bed."

Snape's brows rose.

"And she's always in the library, poring over the books—some of the topics I've never heard before. She's even broken into the warded section. I didn't even know Sirius ihad/i a restricted section until I caught her ripping apart the panel they were hidden behind. She looked at me like she was going to hex me into next week, and her fingers were all bloody."

"Perhaps she's simply doing research, as out of character as that might be," Snape said, sounding bored.

Harry thinned his lips. Snape was deliberately missing the point. "Yeah, well, in between her bouts of insomnia, fanatic research, and starving herself, she's talking to people she's known for years—people she loves—like they were nothing more than rubbish."

"You included?"

Harry looked away. He didn't know how to categorise how Hermione talked to him, looked at him. It was akin to fear and hate rolled into one. "She tolerates me more than most."

Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "And just what do you wish me to do about Miss Granger?"

"I'm not sure. That's why I'm here. You know more about Dark magic and spells than any wizard alive."

"What makes you think it's Dark magic?" Snape asked with a frown.

"Call it a gut feeling."

"And you expect me to waste my time on your unformulated plan because you had a rotten bit of beef at supper? I think not." He rose, clearly intending to show Harry the door.

Harry blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "I'll give you Sirius' library!"

Snape stopped in his tracks, and he slowly turned to stare at Harry. His eyes glittered acquisitively. "All of it?"

Manipulative prick. "All of it," Harry confirmed.

The smirk that Snape sent his way settled like a lead weight in his stomach. "Done."

* * *

As expected, when Harry and Snape returned to Grimmauld Place they found Hermione in the library, scribbling like mad, taking notes from a thick tome open to her left. Snape stood behind him, silent, and observed her for several moments. Harry was just about to interrupt her when she slowly raised her head and sent him a piercing look, her smile a bit crooked.

"Harry," she purred.

Merlin, her eyes! The only thing Harry could think about was falling into them...

"Potter!" Snape grabbed hold of his arm and shook him.

Harry blinked several times. He was several steps inside the room, but he didn't recall moving. When he was able to focus once more, chills spiralled up his spine at the malicious look on Hermione's face. It was very apparent she was not happy to see Snape.

"What do you mean by bringing _him_ here, Harry?"

Snape answered before Harry could speak. "I was invited by Mr. Potter, Miss Granger. I wonder if you and I may have a word in private?"

"No," she growled and returned to her books.

"Hermione, please?" Harry begged. He didn't want to cast a spell on her, but he would if he had to.

"Harry, why would you let this traitor into your house?" Hermione asked, her tone cold.

"You may be right for once in your misbegotten life, Potter," Snape murmured low. "Even when perturbed, Miss Granger rarely became glaringly cross."

"You don't know about her _Oppugno_ spell, then," Harry muttered.

"Mmmh. Indeed."

"It's rude to talk about me when I'm in the room… and can hear you," she seethed.

"Then perhaps you should act like an adult and join the conversation," Snape suggested.

Hermione gave them both a very put-upon look and slammed the book shut. "Perhaps you shouldn't have murdered certain people, Snape. Then you wouldn't have to rely on the mercies of St. Potter here."

"Hermione!" Harry yelped. What the hell was wrong with her?

Snape stepped away from Harry and withdrew his wand, pointing it at Hermione. "I dislike this amicable pretence. _Legilimens_!"

Though he didn't condone Snape's methods, Harry made no objection to the spell, and instead awaited the backlash. Beads of sweat formed on Snape's brow as he held Hermione's gaze, and Harry knew the pressure was mounting. He'd experienced the very same thing when Snape crashed through his mind.

But this task seemed monumental, and at last Snape dropped his eyes and sagged into a chair, clearly disturbed and baffled. "Chaos," he muttered. "Interspersed with moments of dormancy."

"What does that mean? You looked like you were struggling to get past her barriers."

Snape snorted. "Because that's all there is, Potter—barriers. There are few, if any, cracks in her mental shield."

"That's good, isn't it? That means she's like a natural Occlumens, right?"

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. "Do try to recall your disastrous lessons from two years ago. There is no seam through which I can penetrate her mind. It was almost as if there was a void where her psyche should be. A blank slate, as it were, is not possible. It would mean the person is, for all intents and purposes, brain dead."

"Are you quite finished?" Hermione snarled.

Harry and Snape studied the witch before them, who returned their perusal with a scathing glare of her own.

"My apologies, Miss Granger," Snape said with a nod. "I had intended—"

"Shut up." Hermione turned to Harry and scowled. "How could you let him do that to me?"

"Hermione, there's something wrong—"

Her slap cut short Harry's protestations. He held his hand to his cheek, his jaw hanging open in stunned silence.

She narrowed her eyes at Snape. "Don't _ever_ do that again. If you even think about it, you won't live to see the next day." She grabbed her rolls of parchment and backed out of the room, never taking her eyes off them until she was in the corridor, then turned and fled.

Harry was at a loss. "I'm sorry," he whispered, glancing at Snape.

Snape waved off his apology, his attention focused on the section of books whose large gaps indicated where Hermione had been engaged in study. "There is precious little time to waste if you wish to help your friend." He selected a thin volume from a high shelf. "If my suspicions are correct, and they usually are, Miss Granger is fighting something she can have no hope to conquer on her own."

"I can't just write her off, Snape!"

Snape read a page or two. "You have appalling hearing, Potter. I said, 'if you wish to help'. If you do not, let her continue on her self-destructive path. I care not." He reshelved the book.

Harry felt a flicker of hope. "Fine. What are your suspicions?"

"I'll reserve judgement at this time. The possibilities could alarm you."

"A bit late for that, don't you think?" Harry snapped.

Snape plucked an abused quill from an empty inkpot. "Sometimes the things we possess, possess us in return." He dropped the quill on the desk.

"Could you be any more cryptic?"

"Possibly," Snape said with a smirk. "Here." He withdrew the Elder Wand and handed it to Harry. "Do _not_ give this to just anyone, Potter. You are fortunate that Draco was incapable of using it against you. I must go now. I will return tomorrow."

Harry felt a mixture of relief and anguish at the thought of Snape's leaving. On the spur of the moment, he voiced a thought he'd been mulling over since finding out that Snape's house had been destroyed. "You could always live here until you find your own place."

Snape gave him a derisive look. "Not even if it were the only house left on Earth, Potter. Especially with you in residence."

Harry bit his lip hard to keep from yelling. "Why do you hate me so much?" he managed to get out, just as Snape reached the door.

The dark wizard paused on the threshold. "You mistake me. In order to hate you, I would have to feel something for you. I feel nothing."

Harry's throat tightened. "Nothing? For anyone?"

"For no one," Snape affirmed and closed the door.

Harry stood just inside the library, willing himself to remain where he was and not go after the miserable curmudgeon. The low chime of the grandfather clock in the hall told him it was four o'clock in the afternoon. Time for a bit of tea. He glanced towards the kitchen, trying to summon the courage to face Hermione and failing horribly.

Instead, he made his way over to the sofa and sank into the cushions, laying his head on the armrest. Most days he could deal with the constant turmoil his life had become. Today, however, it just hurt to breathe.

* * *

As Harry spooned a healthy portion of sugar into his tea the next morning, Hermione quietly sat down in front of him, pouring herself a cup as well.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, stirring in milk and sugar. "About yesterday." She glanced up at Harry and grimaced. "I don't remember much, but what I do remember was not pleasant. I didn't feel well."

"You haven't felt well in the past few weeks, Hermione. Maybe even months."

She rubbed her temples. "Since Malfoy Manor."

It had often puzzled Harry how Hermione was able to act as if nothing had happened in the months after they had escaped the Manor. She had gone about her usual routine: taking charge where and when she needed to—and sometimes when she didn't—doing as much research as she could, and keeping them all alive in the thick of things. When either he or Ron asked what had happened to her while they were locked in the dungeon, she would refuse to answer, saying that it was over now and not to worry anymore. And since the final battle, the Hermione Harry knew had begun to crumble away, bit by bit.

He was well past worrying—he was outright panicking. Even if it set her off again, he had to get some answers. "Can you please tell me what happened when you were with Bellatrix?"

Hermione shuddered violently and squeezed her eyes shut, a lone tear escaping. "You've seen the word she carved into my arm," she whispered. "But there were moments when she..." Hermione swallowed a sob. "She... promised Greyback he could have me when she was done." She opened her eyes, filled with such horror. "I could hear him, Harry. I could hear him grunting and breathing, just over my shoulder, and I was afraid to look. I've never been afraid. But I was that day."

Harry took her hand and gave it a tight squeeze. "It's okay to be scared. I'd have been bloody terrified."

"I wasn't just scared, Harry. I was about to die! I fully expected to be eaten by that thing that kept pacing behind Bellatrix. But then she dragged me off into a chamber… and I don't remember what happened after that."

"When Dobby freed us and we found you, Bellatrix was holding you very close."

She nodded and pulled her hand out of Harry's grasp. "But I don't know what happened in the meanwhile. What if…what if they did things to me?"

He was reluctant to voice his suspicions about what might have occurred in case it frightened her more. "Do you think—"

A crack of Apparition sounded from the garden and both of them froze. Harry had a pretty good idea of who it might be, but he was wary of Hermione's reaction after what had happened the day before.

"That's probably Snape," he said.

As predicted, she stiffened. "Why do you trust him? You haven't given me any logical reason as to why you should."

"If I promise to tell you everything after he leaves, will you please try to be civil?"

She actually looked contrite. "I'm sorry. Here you've allowed me to stay with you and I've treated everyone abysmally. I know I've been rude."

He didn't need to tell her how nasty she'd been. Instead, he gave her a small smile and rose to go to the back door just as a knock sounded. He opened it, admitting Snape, who strode in and seated himself at the table across from Hermione without a by-your-leave.

"Tea, Potter," he barked. As an afterthought, he added a curt, "Miss Granger."

She nodded hesitantly. "Professor Snape."

His brows rose. "Back to our swotty self today, are we?"

Harry felt an urge to toss the teapot at the bloody man, but refrained. Instead he produced a cup, filled it and thumped it down in front of Snape. "So, have you found anything?"

Cup poised on lips, Snape shot him a glare. "And how might I 'find anything' when both my subject and materials are located here? I am here to conduct research, Potter. You did promise, after all." There was definitely a triumphant smirk on his face.

"What's he talking about, Harry?"

Snape was doing this on purpose, Harry was sure of it. "I promised him something in exchange for his help."

She glanced between the two of them. "His help with what? And what did you promise him?"

Oh, she was so not going to like this. "I don't know nearly half of what Snape knows when it comes to Dark magic, Hermione. We need his help."

"With what?" she reiterated, trepidation clear in her voice.

"Why you, of course, Miss Granger," Snape interjected, as though it should have been obvious.

"Me?"

Snape placed his empty cup on the saucer and folded his hands, giving Hermione a pointed look. "Mr. Potter has expressed his concern, and rightly so, that you are exhibiting, shall we say, less than normal behaviour. At first I dismissed his apprehension, assuming it was nothing more than anxiety and stress on your part from a long and arduous journey over the past months and the loss of many of your friends. However, I was forced to amend my initial conclusion yesterday when I was able to observe your mind."

"You mean force your way inside," she spat. "Legilimency should be included in the Unforgivables."

Snape shrugged. "I tried to apologise yesterday, but you seemed unwilling to accept it, so I won't do so now. Besides, it was necessary."

"Raping someone's mind is never necessary!"

"There was nothing there to rape, as you so eloquently put it, Miss Granger!"

"Both of you, be quiet!" Harry shouted, slapping his hand on the table. When nothing was forthcoming from either of them, he continued. "Hermione, I understand how you feel; having him barrel into your brain is traumatising. I even got a nosebleed or two from the pressure inside my head when he was trying to teach me last year."

"I was never aware of such an occurrence," Snape said. To Harry's surprise, his tone was concerned. "You should have told me, or at the very least Dumbledore."

Harry looked away. "Yeah, well, Dumbledore still would've made me go to those sessions, so it wasn't worth the literal headache."

"But you _agreed_ to those lessons, Harry," Hermione said bitterly. She glared at Snape. "I didn't have a choice."

"Hermione," Harry said patiently, "you've refused to see a Healer; you've barely eaten enough to keep a bird alive for the past few weeks. You sleepwalk, you spend all your time studying books that scare me just to read the titles; you've said things to the Weasleys and to me that, if you were yourself, you'd be ashamed to even think. Short of holding you down and letting Snape cast every diagnostic spell imaginable on you, I didn't see any other option. _I_ had no choice."

She slumped back in her chair, defeated. "I had no idea I was sleepwalking."

"Most people don't," Snape pointed out. "What Potter is trying to say in his bumbling, dunderheaded way, is that he is concerned for your welfare to the point that he has consulted me. Which clearly demonstrates how desperate he must have been. I agreed for a price."

"What price?"

"Sirius' library," Harry muttered.

"Harry, you can't!" she gasped. "Sirius trusted you keep his legacy safe!"

"And just what do you think I intend to do with these books, Miss Granger?" Snape said acidly. "Sell them to unsuspecting collectors of Dark Arts in hopes of inspiring another Dark Lord? Or perhaps I plan to use them for myself and raise an army of Inferi? I am, after all, still a Death Eater."

"No, you're not," Harry grumbled. "Snape wouldn't do those things, Hermione. I don't want them in the house anymore. And who better to keep the collection safe than someone who's well-versed in handling the Dark Arts? You wouldn't want someone like Lucius to get his hands on them, would you?" He glanced hesitantly at Snape. "You wouldn't give them to Malfoy, right?"

Snape snorted. "You should have thought about that before you agreed."

"See?" Hermione crossed her arms. "He'll just sell them to the Malfoys and then it'll be like Voldemort all over again." She turned away. "And I was using them to research."

"Research what, specifically?" Snape asked, studying her intently.

Her expression was closed off, despondent. "It doesn't matter anymore."

Harry was about to tell her that it might matter a great deal when he heard several cracks of Apparition sound from the back garden. Conversation stopped abruptly, and all three of them tensed, glancing at each other uneasily.

"Who else knows I'm here, Potter?" Snape whispered.

While the Ministry hadn't sent Snape to Azkaban, they were watching him very closely. Since he had yet to have a formal trial, as the Malfoys had, Harry knew Snape would not willingly surrender himself to their less-than-tender mercies. "No one, except us and Draco."

Snape rose and peered out through a grimy window, his lips thinning. "Weasleys. The whole tribe, if I'm correct."

Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Great. Just what we don't need."

He noticed a slight smirk playing about Hermione's mouth, but a loud knock on the door distracted him from asking her what was so amusing. Snape hastily backed into a corner, trying to blend in with the few shadows that lingered, but his eyes were riveted on Hermione.

Sighing, Harry answered the door and was met with a bone-crushing hug by Mrs. Weasley. "Oh, my dear boy! You're so thin!"

He spit out a tendril of red hair that found its way into his mouth. "I'm trying, Mrs. Weasley."

"Oh pish! Men don't know anything about cooking. I've brought something that will put some meat on your bones." She shoved a crock of something delicious-smelling into his hands. "I've put a Stasis Charm on the pot, so it will stay hot as long as there's food in it."

"Good to see you, Harry," Arthur said, with a slap on his back that nearly caused Harry to drop the food. He leaned close and whispered in Harry's ear, "She's taken to feeding everyone that lets her. It's her way of coping."

Harry nodded and stepped back to the let the rest of the family inside. George meandered past, a ghost of his former self, and sat at the table, not even acknowledging him. Charlie nodded a greeting and slipped into the kitchen to sit next to George. Harry guessed that Charlie was keeping an eye out for his younger brother, a responsibility that must be heavy indeed. There was no sign of Bill or Percy.

Ron gave him a hesitant smile and a pat on the back. "`Allo, mate."

"Hey, Ron." Harry turned to say something to Hermione but her chair was empty. He looked around until he found her, standing very close to Snape.

Ron followed Harry's gaze and his eyes widened. "Professor!"

"Mr. Weasley," Snape drawled. Hermione gave a strange little jerk, and Harry caught a glimpse of the grip Snape had on her elbows, as if restraining her. Snape minutely shook his head at Harry's concerned expression.

"Hey, Hermione," Ron said, oblivious to the tension mounting in the room. "Can I talk to you?"

Snape tightened his hold. "I don't think that would be wise, Mr. Weasley. Miss Granger is… distraught."

Ron frowned heavily. "I think she's distraught because of the way you're man-handling her. I suggest you let her go."

"Hey, Harry," Ginny remarked as she closed the door behind her, stopping short at the sight of Ron squared off with Snape. "What's going on?"

Harry didn't answer. All his attention was focused on Snape, Hermione and Ron. He had a sense that things could go very bad, very quickly, and he just hoped Snape knew what he was doing.

"If I release Miss Granger, I will not be responsible for her actions."

"What are you talking about, Severus?" Molly asked, clearly puzzled.

Snape arched a brow in Harry's direction in an unspoken question.

"Hermione's not feeling well," Harry answered. "Snape and I are trying to find out if she's been cursed or hexed, and it would be best if she didn't have contact with other people just now."

Ron scoffed. "Seems like she's having a lot of contact with Snape, there."

Hermione tried to lunge at Ron, but Snape pulled her against his chest, one arm across her shoulders, the other at her waist. It crossed Harry's mind that they looked very intimate in the embrace, like they belonged together.

"What's going on here, Harry?" Arthur asked.

Harry set the crock he'd been holding on the counter, trying to decide how much to tell them. "I told you, Hermione's been sick. We don't know what's going on with her, and it's best that she not be around things or people that agitate her… like Ron." He looked over his shoulder. "Or Ginny."

"Me?" Ginny objected. "What did I do to her?"

Hermione smiled at Ginny, her usual expression distorted into a leer. "There once was a redhead named Ginny, who'd mouth any cock for a penny. She slurped and she sucked, but she'll never get fucked, 'cause Harry hates gingery fanny!"

Ron bristled. "Are you calling my sister a whore?"

Snape snorted, but promptly covered Hermione's mouth with his wide hand. "As we said, she's unwell."

Silence fell for a moment, then Arthur coughed. "Yes, well, I see what you mean. Perhaps we'd better go."

"No, I want to know what she meant by that," Ginny said in an irritated tone.

Hermione was prevented from answering by Snape's bruising grip. "If you don't stop struggling," he hissed at her, "I'll have to hex you. Cease!"

"I don't think you should be hexing anyone, Severus," Arthur warned, wand in hand. "In fact, I think perhaps it's time you came with me to the Ministry to answer some questions. We've been very lenient with you for Harry's sake."

"Lenient?" Snape grated. "You call burning down my house so you could flush me out into the open i_lenient_/i? What's the matter, Arthur? Not wizard enough to come and get me yourself?"

Harry looked at Arthur, seeing the man in a new light. Had the Ministry seriously destroyed the house at Spinner's End because they were afraid of Snape's power? Only a handful of people knew of Snape's true purpose, his true allegiance, Harry being one of them. As for the rest of the wizarding world? Harry had assumed that society had been willing to forgive what they saw as Snape's mistakes and even crimes, but if what Arthur said was correct, they were just too fearful to arrest Snape and prosecute him, especially with Harry defending him rather than slandering him in the papers. And now that Snape was holed up at the Malfoys, Harry realized they would be doubly cautious about invading the manor again.

"Don't you talk about my father that way, you vicious git!" Ron spat and advanced on Snape.

"Ron, don't!" Harry stepped between them, knowing if Snape was cornered he would simply disappear.

But he was too late. Snape snarled at Ron, withdrew his wand and Disapparated, taking Hermione with him.

"Bloody hell!" Ron shouted. "He's got my girlfriend!" He turned on Harry. "Are you just going to let him go?"

Harry stared at all the people in his kitchen, wishing for the first time in his life that he was alone. "Ron, I don't think she considers herself your girlfriend."

"What? Why not? I mean, I came here to tell her I'd go to Australia with her to look for her mum and dad, and I find her practically snogging Snape! What has been going on here, Harry?"

Harry shook his head, undecided whether to laugh or cry. "She wasn't snogging Snape, Ron. Like he said, we've been working closely together and she feels safe with him." Which was probably a complete lie, but he wasn't going to tell Ron that.

Molly cleared her throat. "We'd best be going, Harry," she said quietly. "Come along, Arthur, Ron, the rest of you."

George rose from his seat as if in a trance, not having said one word the entire time. Charlie shook Harry's hand briefly, with a quick, "Good to see you." Ron refused to move until his father grabbed his arm and manoeuvred him out the door, Molly in tow.

That left Ginny.

"Do you know where they went?" she asked innocently.

A little too innocently, Harry thought. He had a pretty good idea where Snape had taken Hermione, and it wasn't going to be pleasant. "Not a clue," he lied easily. He gave Ginny a small smile but moved away when she attempted to draw him into a hug. "I think you'd better go. I need to find them."

She shrugged. "Oh, I wouldn't worry. Dad will find them."

Harry was immediately on edge. "What do you mean?"

Ginny moved close and ran her fingers up Harry's chest. "I overheard Dad telling Bill the other day that Dumbledore had put Tracking Charms on you, Ron and Hermione at that last Order meeting, in case one of you got into trouble and needed help. The head of the Order would be notified if your stress levels became too high and it would give the general location to where you were."

Harry thought back, calculating when the last Order meeting with Dumbledore had been—August, just before his fifth year at Hogwarts. "That bastard," he growled. He deftly removed Ginny's hand and pushed her away. "Dumbledore knew all along what was happening to us, but he did nothing about it." When the Headmaster was killed, who would have become the head of the Order? Odds were it was Moody—the wizard was one wave short of a shipwreck, and he'd probably consider any 'stress' they suffered to be for the greater good. With Moody dead, that left Shacklebolt. If it was him, there wasn't much chance he'd go looking for Hermione, not with as busy as he was trying to piece together the wizarding world.

This only confirmed his earlier suspicions: that the greatest wizard he'd ever known, and whom he'd once thought the world of, had in reality been the ultimate puppet-master. Now, they had bigger problems. He didn't want the Tracking Charm on Hermione activated for any number of reasons, not least of which because he didn't want an entire squadron of Aurors raining down on either of them. Oh, he was sure Snape and Hermione could handle themselves without batting an eyelash, but the fierce protectiveness he felt for both of them refused to let them fight alone.

"I'm sure there's an explanation for everything that's happened, Harry," Ginny said softly.

Harry pinned her with a heated glare. "Sure there was: to make me the ultimate killing machine when the time came." Ignoring her urgent and profuse apologies for something she hadn't even done, he opened the door. His tone brooking no argument, he said, "You should leave."

When he closed the door after her, he blew out a harsh breath and Disapparated straight to the iron gates leading onto the grounds of Malfoy Manor.


	4. Chapter 4

"If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were deliberately complicating things," Harry said crossly.

Draco had been waiting for him at the gate when he had arrived, a disgruntled look on his face. He had quickly shown Harry to Severus' quarters, where Hermione was seated in a chair, tightly bound with an Incarcerous Charm. Snape must have also added a _Silencio_, because although Hermione's face was red and she looked to be screaming, not one sound could be heard.

"You don't know me at all," Snape muttered. "Has it occurred to you that I saved you from having to reattach certain body parts on that ginger idiot by removing Miss Granger before she inflicted true damage?"

"I don't think Hermione would—"

"That's your problem, Potter: you don't think!" Snape made his way to where Hermione was sitting and stood behind her. "Look at her." He withdrew Hermione's wand from his robe pocket. "If she had this, she wouldn't hesitate to kill you!"

Harry slowly moved to stand in front of his best friend, bending low to stare into her face. She strained against the spells that held her in a savage bid to reach him. Just as she lunged forward to bite him, Snape grabbed her hair and tugged her back in place, her teeth snapping on empty air. Harry jerked back as her jaw clenched and she drew up and spit at him.

Tears filled Harry's eyes. This was not the witch who had protected him, helped him all those years. He wiped away the spittle on his cheek. "Remove the Silencing Charm."

"Potter…"

"Do it."

Snape sighed heavily and muttered a _Finite_, and soon the air was filled with Hermione's screams of fury.

"You bastards! I'll rip your balls off and feed them to the crows! How dare you treat me this way? Let me go, now, or I'll send you to meet your worthless godfather, you coward!"

Shocked, Harry rose and took a step back. "Hermione, please, it's me, Harry."

"I know very well who you are!" She spat at him once more. "You and your precious doggie, the only one you had left. Given half a chance, Sirius would've fucked you in the arse!"

Harry's eyes widened and he glanced at Snape. The dour wizard shrugged and gave him an 'I told you so' look.

"Never speak of Sirius that way," Harry snarled at Hermione.

A coy smile curved her mouth and her voice went soft and caressing. "Aww, did you _love_ him, Harry? Did you _want_ him to fuck you like a good puppy?"

Harry raised his hand, ready to let it fly, but he stopped at the last second. "Don't _ever_ say that again!"

Snape cast a sharp _Silencio_ before she could utter more vulgarities. "I trust you see the inherent problem. Left to her own devices, Miss Granger could very well eviscerate someone for merely looking at her."

Harry collapsed to the floor and leaned back against a cedar chest that rested at the foot of Snape's bed. "Do you have any ideas, any theories as to what's wrong with her?"

"When we first arrived, I cast several diagnostic spells on her, finding, in essence, nothing." Snape sat down in a chair near Hermione, casting occasional looks at her as if making sure she wasn't in any danger of escaping the bindings. "I will not attempt Legilimency on her at this point; it is exhausting even in the best of situations, and in her current condition it would cause me a significant amount of pain." He steepled his fingers. "I have witnessed only two other cases of this sort of personality shift: Draco Malfoy and Professor Quirrell. As you know, Draco's was due to the extreme stress he was under. Quirrell's was another matter altogether."

"You knew Quirrell before?"

Hermione began to buck in her seat, nearly upending the chair. Snape aimed a _Petrificus Totalus_ at her and her thrashing ceased, her eyes frozen in a mutinous glare.

"Yes," Snape resumed. "We had been teaching together for two years before you arrived at Hogwarts. He was very much like Miss Granger here: studious, nose forever in a book. He taught Muggle Studies for two years and then was approached by Albus for the Dark Arts position. He expressed his desire for first-hand experience before he felt he could competently instruct in such a subject, since his prior knowledge had been based mostly on theory rather than actual practice. Albus agreed and sent him to Albania. Of course, I cautioned him not to lower his guard, but when he returned the next year, his personality had altered greatly. Gone was the somewhat reserved wizard who was confident in the subject he taught. He had become nervous, fidgety, acquired an eye twitch and a stutter."

Harry rubbed at his faded scar. "Yeah, that was a bit of a shock when he dropped the act and tried to throttle me."

Snape nodded and glanced at Hermione. "I imagine her characteristic behaviours have been dwindling gradually." He leaned over and snagged a lock of her hair, holding it up for Harry's examination. "I believe Miss Granger's hair is normally brown with soft, golden highlights and a frizzy texture. See the difference now?"

Harry raised his brows. Since when did Snape notice the colour of Hermione's hair? For that matter, why was he being… well, nice? For Snape, anyway. It gave Harry a queasy feeling in his stomach. He shook himself out of his reverie and stood up to take a closer look. "It's curlier. And darker."

Snape's calloused fingers gently rubbed the strands before releasing them. "Quirrell didn't start wearing a turban until he returned to begin teaching the Dark Arts. I was unsure what lay beneath the fabric, but he did have shoulder-length hair when he left for Albania."

"He was bald," Harry rasped, and rubbed his face. "Voldemort was fused into his head. It was hideous." He tugged on his forelock, almost afraid of voicing his suspicions. "Do you think Hermione has a Horcrux inside her, like I did?"

Snape pursed his lips and sat back, his focus on the bound witch. "My first inclination is to say no, but I am unsure. I have in-depth knowledge of Horcruxes, though not as extensive as the Dark Lord's. Quirrell was never a Horcrux, though he carried Riddle for nearly a year."

"You didn't know I was one, not until my sixth year." Harry couldn't keep an accusing tone from creeping into his voice.

"I had my suspicions," Snape murmured and looked away. "Dumbledore… kept things from me, as he should have done. As he had to do."

"That's bollocks, Snape, and you know it," Harry snapped. "If either of you had bothered to tell me what was going on—what I had to do—especially, oh, maybe around fifth year, did you never think I might just offer myself up and be done with it?"

Snape sprang from his seat and curled his fist in Harry's shirt collar, his face grim and set. "You bloody martyr!" he hissed. "I wanted him gone as much as you, if not more! But I wasn't such an idiot as to sacrifice my position when there was still so much to be done. Had you 'offered yourself up' during your fifth year, those you left behind would still be fighting, still be searching for those damnable Horcruxes. You were told when you needed to be told, and not a moment sooner!" His voice rose to a shout. "Not everything is about you, you fool-hardy imbecile!"

"Am I interrupting?"

Harry and Snape turned to see Lucius standing at the door, a dubious look on his face. Snape released Harry's shirt with a shove that sent him staggering back against the wall and returned to his seat next to Hermione. Harry shrugged his shoulders to ease the tension that had built during their shouting match.

Lucius eyed Snape. "Draco told me you had company…" His gaze flicked to Hermione and his lip twitched into a sneer. "Though I see that 'company' is perhaps too strong a word?"

"Don't start, Malfoy," Harry warned, wanting to deter Lucius' condescending comments before they could start; neither he nor Snape was in any mood for the Malfoy brand of humour. "Snape and I are doing research."

"Is that what you call it?" Lucius gave the motionless Hermione a lengthy perusal, smirking, before turning to Snape. "I hadn't realised your tastes ran towards bondage. If you're interested, I have—"

"Enough, Lucius," Snape growled, thumping his fist on a side table. "We both know I've had my fill of slavery to last more than three lifetimes. I will not subject another to its atrocities."

"Pity," Lucius sighed. "Miss Granger looks like she enjoys being… restrained."

Snape and Harry turned to see Hermione, now moving a little more freely, writhing sensually in her chair, casting Snape smouldering looks. She licked her lips, lowered her eyelids and focused on him with an entreating gaze, as if begging him to touch her.

And Snape slowly moved towards her, reaching out to…

"No!" Harry shouted and cast a quick _Repello_.

The older wizard was thrown back and landed on the floor in a heap, much as he had when Hermione cast a similar spell in their third year in the Shrieking Shack. Harry turned to Hermione and, heedless of Snape's earlier warnings, ended all the spells that were binding her. She took a deep, gulping breath, moaned Harry's name, and sagged bonelessly in the chair, unconscious.

"Still making a mess of things, Potter," Lucius sighed, irritated. He stepped across to Snape and helped him to stand up.

Harry levitated Hermione to the bed. "Don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy." He covered her with the thick duvet. "The way I see it, _you're_ the ones that created the mess; I just cleaned it up."

"Arrogant whelp!" Lucius spat. "If I had my wand, I—"

"But you don't, do you?" Harry said with a hard glare.

Lucius advanced on Harry with murderous intent, but Snape's firm grip on his arm brought him to a sudden halt. "Potter has never known when to hold his tongue," Snape ground out. "But he is also correct: you are in no position to teach him manners."

Prying Snape's fingers from his bicep, Lucius shoved his hand away. "You're getting soft, like that doddering old fool you served." He strode to the door, pausing to send Harry a scathing look. "As for you, I tolerate your presence for Severus' sake. It isn't as if I had much choice. I'm sure you would run to your precious Ministry and demand to be allowed access to the manor or our lives in general, and they'd lick your boots as the hero you are. But make no mistake. Cause any harm to myself or Draco, and you'll meet the same sticky end as your parents."

"From who? The Wandless Wonder of Malfoy Manor?" Harry retorted. "Don't make me laugh."

Lucius gritted his teeth and curled his fists. "You may have destroyed the Dark Lord, boy, but you haven't really won. You're a fool if you think there isn't someone just as powerful as Riddle waiting for the opportune moment, when your guard is down. They'll conquer again and then where will you be, O Chosen One?" Lucius laughed nastily. "And I guarantee that when that time comes, you'll beg me to help, beg me for guidance on how to dispatch the brand new monster waiting to invade your dreams. And I will take great pleasure in dismissing you and throwing you to the wolves."

The slam of the door startled Harry, even though he knew it was coming. He swore silently that he would _never_ ask Malfoy for anything, especially help.

"Though he is without a wand, it is unwise to rile Lucius Malfoy, Potter," Snape advised as he sat gingerly on a chair. He arched his back and groaned. "Merlin, I hate you sometimes."

Harry dropped onto the bed next to Hermione and took her hand. "Only sometimes?" He felt a slight relief that Snape didn't hate him all the time.

"How is she?" Snape asked, avoiding the question.

"Her hands are cold, but her forehead is warm."

Snape came over to the bed and sat down on the other side. He murmured a _Lumos_ and lifted her lids. "Her pupils are dilated." He pressed his fingers to the side of her neck, just under the angle of her jaw. "Slightly rapid pulse. I would say she is in mild shock."

"What do we do, then?"

"Do? We do nothing. Rest is what is needed, perhaps a more nutritious meal?" Snape rose from the bed and headed for the door. "Cast a _Vigila_ charm that will alert us if she awakens, and follow me."

"Why?"

Snape paused and narrowed his eyes. "Did it slip your feeble mind that you have asked for my help with Miss Granger? If you have changed your mind, then promptly leave and take her with you."

Harry clenched his jaw. "You know I haven't. I just think someone should stay with her."

"Fine. Do as you wish," Snape said negligently. "We could of course search the library for possible spells or curses that would mimic the effects of a Horcrux. I had thought it would go more quickly with two of us. Apparently, I was wrong." He didn't wait for an answer, but simply left the room.

"Damn it," Harry muttered under his breath. He was reluctant to leave Hermione alone, but he also wanted to find what ailed her as quickly as possible so they could set about healing her.

With a sigh, Harry cast the strongest charms he knew so even if her breathing altered in the slightest, he would be alerted. He leaned down, brushed a kiss on her forehead and left the room.

* * *

Two hours later, Harry and Snape were knee-deep in heirlooms, cursed objects and books of every shape and size in a hidden chamber accessible only through the cellars of Malfoy Manor. After a light meal, at which Lucius did not make an appearance, Draco had led them to this obscure room where they hoped to find something of use. He'd then left, saying he and his father needed to discuss some Muggle ventures. Harry was highly surprised at this, but all Draco would say on the matter was that, "Father was no fool when it came to investments, regardless if they were wizard or Muggle."

From their position, Harry and Snape could see anyone that ventured into the impromptu dungeon, but they themselves could not be detected. The chamber thus acted as a means of spying as well.

Harry had his nose in a book when he heard the iron gate that guarded the main entrance to the cellar creak open. Since his Vigila Charm had not activated, Harry assumed it was Draco.

It was. But he was followed by a shadow.

Harry tugged on Snape's robe and held a finger up to his mouth, hoping he would remain silent, then pointed towards the two figures. Snape frowned and turned to look out into the main area.

Draco cautiously descended the stairs, almost as if he knew someone was trailing him. Harry had to give the Slytherin credit for his cool reaction; he himself wouldn't respond at all well to the suspicion of anyone tracking him after everything that had happened. Draco made a right at the bottom of the steps instead of the usual left that would lead to the hidden room, then whipped around suddenly, only to be met with nothing.

He scanned the darkness. "I know you're there," he called out. "Show yourself."

Harry half-expected Lucius to emerge from the inky blackness, or even Kingsley Shacklebolt on a surprise visit, but when he recognized Draco's stalker, he could not have been more stunned if Voldemort himself had stepped into the dim light. Silhouetted near an archway stood Hermione, staring at Draco in a way that unnerved Harry.

It wasn't just the fact that Harry's charm had never gone off that disconcerted him; Hermione's appearance was altogether peculiar, different. Her arms hung loosely against her body, as if a great weight lay upon her shoulders. Hair that was normally frizzy and unmanageable lay in limp strands across her back and neck, heavy with water as if she'd just come in from a drenching rain. The blouse and denims she had worn that morning now hung on her frame in an ill-fitting manner, her shape so very thin. This was not the same witch he had left in Snape's rooms.

"I thought Potter left you tied up?" Draco said in a petulant voice. "Come to relive old memories?"

Stepping closer, she purred, "Something like that." She ran her fingers down the buttons on Draco's dress shirt.

He grabbed her wrist to halt her wandering hands. "What do you want?"

Harry tensed, ready to intervene, but Snape shook his head, leaned close and whispered, "We may learn more about her condition if we allow this to play out."

Trying to ignore the shivers Snape's voice sent up his spine, Harry nodded and peered into the dimly-lit chamber.

"I want you to tell me where it is. I know Mummy told you," Hermione cooed, leaning into Draco and pressing her body against his.

Draco shoved her away. "Fuck off, Granger," he growled. "Never speak about my mother again!"

"She was a coward," she mocked. "Just like your father and Snape." She tilted her head to study him. "But at least your father has an imposing presence, I'll give him that much." Leaning closer, she ran her tongue slowly across her lips and whispered, "What do you have?"

To Harry's surprise, Draco didn't react immediately to her taunt. Perhaps after everything that had happened, Draco had decided to adopt the classic Slytherin life-saving skill of keeping his ears open and his mouth shut.

Instead of rising to the bait, he returned her intense study. He walked around her, picking up a lank strand of her hair, tugging at the blouse covering her torso, finally coming to a halt and staring at her. "You know _nothin_g about my mother."

"Is that so?" she countered with a feral smile. "She told you something; I can see it in your eyes and I can smell the fear on you even now."

Draco flared his own nostrils. "I'm not afraid, especially not of you."

The sharpness of Hermione gaunt cheekbones grazed the fullness of his as she laid her cheek against his in a parody of affection and whispered in his ear, "Prove it."

He gave her a hearty shove that sent her sprawling at the base of the stone steps. "Maybe you have a hearing problem, Granger," he hissed. "I said you know nothing!"

"Ah, but _you_ do. What if I told you that you could have eternal life?" she offered, sitting on her backside and looking up at him.

Harry glanced at Snape, who looked just as surprised and confused. _Horcrux?_, he mouthed.

Snape shook his head more slowly this time, a harsh frown marring his features. Harry moved closer to the door, ready to protect Hermione—or, Merlin forbid, Malfoy—in the event the situation called for it.

"You amuse me, Mudblood." Draco took a step forward and landed a swift kick to her hip.

Harry nearly bolted out into the open, ready to kill Draco, but suddenly found himself unable to move, or even utter a word. He struggled for a moment in confusion, then realised that Snape must have cast a non-verbal _Silencio_ and a Full Body Bind on him to prevent him from revealing their whereabouts; Harry felt a grudging admiration for the man's considerable magical skills, though he immensely disliked him in that moment.

"Watch and learn, impetuous brat!" Snape whispered softly in his ear.

As if he could do anything else, in this condition. Had he been able to move his face, however, he would have frowned, for Hermione wasn't even wincing from the pain. In fact, she was giving Draco a wicked smile.

"What makes you think you know the secret to immortality, hmm?" Draco crossed his arms. "The Philosopher's Stone was destroyed, vampirism is overrated, and you're definitely not the Dark magic sort." He squatted down and gripped her chin forcefully. "So tell me… how could you make such an empty offer?"

Her smile widened, giving her haggard face the look of a grinning skull. "I won't tell you. You'll have to earn it." She spit at him, laughing—no, _cackling_, Harry thought—as the saliva landed in his right eye.

Very slowly, Draco wiped the offending substance off, then narrowed his gaze. Without warning, he backhanded her across the face, the crack echoing in the chamber.

Harry was still motionless, but inside he was seething, fuming and itching to hex anyone who dared to touch his friend. Even Snape pursed his lips as if disturbed.

Draco stepped away and wrung his right hand; to Harry, a few of the fingers appeared swollen and at odd angles. Good—he hoped the abusive prat had broken them all.

Hermione did nothing, simply stared at Draco, blood trickling from a long gash on her cheek. Harry watched in morbid fascination as she touched the rapidly forming bruise below her left eye, her fingers coming away with crimson fluid clinging to their tips. She opened her mouth and slowly, sensuously, curled her tongue around each digit, sucking them clean.

"Are you sure you don't want to know?" she taunted, batting her eyelashes at Draco.

Clenching his fist in the material of her shirt, he pulled her close until they were nose-to-nose. "You're a sick, twisted bitch, Granger." He shook her, her head snapping back and forth. "I think Bella had a little too much fun with you."

Mad laughter echoed in the dungeon, but Harry saw with alarm that Hermione's eyes were filled with tears. She wrapped her fingers around the wrist that held her and squeezed, knuckles white with the effort and tendons standing in ridges. "You should never speak of your betters that way, boy. Let go of me!"

Draco grimaced in pain but kept a tight grip on her. "Since I've yet to see someone better than me, I'll speak as I like and I'll keep you right here. Tell me what you know!" he gritted out between clenched teeth.

An arched eyebrow was the only warning Draco received before he was flung backwards several feet, striking his head on the wall and landing in a heap on the stone floor. "You won't keep me anywhere." She stood and brushed herself off. "Weak, traitorous child," she growled low.

Harry had heard a thud when Draco's head had hit the wall, but he was evidently still conscious. Blindly reaching for purchase, he grasped an iron ring embedded in the wall and hoisted himself upright, staggering to a standing position.

"You... how did you…" He blinked a couple of times. "Not possible. I weigh more than you."

"By several stone," she deadpanned. She came over to where Draco stood, weaving unsteadily and raised a hand to caress his face. "Poor baby. I don't even need a wand to defeat you."

"We'll see about that," he muttered, his free hand searching his pockets.

"You have no wand, remember?" she taunted cruelly. "Ministry took ickle Draco's wand and broke it to itty, bitty bits."

Draco jerked his head away to remove his face from her fingers, unable to suppress a hiss of pain at the movement. "Don't touch me, Mudblood filth!"

Hermione lunged at him and wrapped her hands around his throat, murder plain on her face. "You dare call me that?" she shrieked.

"_Petrificus Totalus_," Snape shouted and Hermione froze, toppling onto her side. It happened so quickly, Harry hadn't realised that Snape had moved, but suddenly he was out into the main dungeon. The older wizard snagged Draco by the scruff and shook him. "I thought I taught you better than this! Those were poor interrogation skills, indeed."

Draco squirmed in his grasp. "Pardon the hell out of me! I've just had my skull cracked and two of my fingers broken. I wasn't exactly worried about getting answers from her, I was trying to stay alive. Next time, you do it!"

Snape let go of Draco, who clumsily straightened his robes with his good hand and made his way up the steps. The slamming of the gate rang loud in the silence. "_Finite_," Snape muttered, pointing his wand at Harry.

His muscles ached a bit from being rigid too long, but he was too far beyond livid to care. "Give me one reason I shouldn't just hand you over to the Aurors for that little stunt you pulled?" he shouted, furious. "You let that stupid git beat her bloody!" He hurried over to where Hermione lay and knelt down to check on her.

"Draco was in more danger than Miss Granger, I assure you." Snape ended the _Petrificus_ and Hermione sagged to the floor, unconscious. "As you can see, she is fine."

"She's not fine! She's got a bruise on her cheek, she's got blood all over her face, and I bet she'll be sore when she wakes up!"

"Nothing that can't be healed with the appropriate spells, Potter. Really, you do go on." Snape levitated Hermione and headed towards the steps, navigating her body carefully before him.

"You can't treat her like this, Snape!"

Snape paused and gave Harry an amused smirk. "I have and I will. You asked for my help. I am merely obliging." He disappeared up the stairwell, his 'charge' floating in front of him.

"Obliging my arse," Harry fumed and followed them out of the cellars.

* * *

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Hermione sat huddled on Snape's bed, wrapped in the duvet, a cup of hot tea in her hand. Just as Snape had said, her injuries were healed as if they had never happened. The injuries inflicted by Draco and Snape's treatment of Hermione still rankled Harry to the core, though. Her appearance, while not the emaciated-looking body in the dungeons any longer, still had not fully returned to the witch he knew.

She rubbed her forehead. "Tea this morning. Then, something about Ron?"

Harry sighed. "You don't recall spitting in my face, practically beating the crap out of Malfoy—"

"I hit Draco?" she asked. She seemed rather pleased with herself at this, but quickly sobered at Harry's glare. "Sorry."

"You threw him across the room." There was another thing that bothered him: the incident where Hermione had blatantly enticed Snape with her eyes and the arch of her body. "And you've, erm… you've been suggestive with Snape." That part had been difficult to get his head around.

She glanced at Snape and blushed. "Oh, Merlin, I'm so sorry, Professor!"

He waved off her concern. "It's quite all right, Miss Granger. And please, stop addressing me as 'professor'. Severus will do."

"Why does she get to call you Severus and I have to call you Snape?" Harry complained. It was completely unfair, regardless of the fact that he had never truly _asked_ to call Snape anything else.

Snape and Hermione looked at him oddly. "Perhaps I like her better than I like you," Snape said wryly.

Harry stared, jaw slack. "What? Why?"

"Really, Potter, you are too easily riled," he said with a snort. He turned to Hermione. "During these _lapses_, do you feel or see or hear anything?"

She looked pensive for a moment. "Vaguely. It's as if I'm watching shadows, trying to interact with them, but my words and actions seem… wrong." She pulled the duvet tighter around her. "Like I'm trapped and can't control my thoughts."

Snape made a notation on the parchment in front of him. "Do you have any ideas of what may trigger an episode?"

"Stress, of course," she answered. She took a sip of tea. "Being around the Weasleys, or Draco, is... difficult. I imagine I'd feel the same about Lucius. And…" She looked away from Snape, blushing even harder. "… you."

"Interesting." He scribbled a bit more. "And yet you sit here, calmly speaking with us. Explain."

"I'd rather not," she said primly and set her cup on the bedside table.

"Hermione," Harry said, exasperated. "We're trying to help. You need to tell him." Harry spoke firmly, even though he didn't really want to know the details.

She looked pained. "Please, Harry. It's personal."

"It's beyond personal at this point, Hermione," Harry said sternly. "It's psychotic. Now tell him whatever it is he needs to know."

"Potter, leave it for now," Snape cautioned, his gaze narrowed on Hermione. "Pushing her at this time may cause a relapse."

"But you just said—"

"Leave it." Snape's voice was cold and uncompromising.

Harry ran his hands through his messy hair. "Fine. You're in charge." He stood up and paced to the end of the room.

Snape started a slow, deliberate clap, a mocking applause. "Finally. Something has permeated your thick skull."

Harry heard Hermione muffle a snigger and shot a glare at her. They seemed to have some secret between them, but apparently he wasn't allowed to know what it was because Snape thought him too stupid. Perhaps that was what hurt the most: that his Potions professor still thought him an idiot, and—worst of all—Hermione seemed to agree. Anger and jealousy left a bitter taste in his mouth as he turned his back on the two of them and made his way to the door. "I need some air."

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked. She sounded worried now, but he couldn't forget that seconds ago she'd been laughing at him.

"Doesn't matter, does it?" he retorted.

"Potter…"

Harry whirled around. "What, Snape? Don't tell me _you_ care where I go!"

The man's customary sneer was firmly in place. "I care that you are upsetting Miss Granger."

"Why do you give a damn?" Harry shouted, finally unable to contain his confusion, anger and frustration.

Taking in their wide-eyed expressions, he knew he needed to get out of there before he said or did something he would regret. Without another word, he fled the room and was out the door, running down the gravel path to the entrance. Once outside the gate he Disapparated to Grimmauld Place, hurting more than ever with the knowledge that the two people he thought the most of, thought the least of him.


End file.
